Chiseled jaw, high cheekbones. Tired eyes glance sideways, energy depleted. Joyless. Her exquisitely shaped lips rouged deepest red. Closed, not pursed, yet somehow gentle. Dark tendrils hang beside her face, drooping as if exhausted. Indigo headscarf appears torn. Disheveled from constant wear or symbolic of war torn life. Blues bleed pale into background. Not thickened red of blood but bleeding nonetheless. One lustrous pearl earring hangs coldly, boldly iridescent in a palette of darkness. Did she really wear it for the sitting? Or is it the artist’s one defiant stroke?
Written for Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Image from Pixabay.com
Want to hear and watch poets from around the globe read a poem aloud? Come join us as I host dVerse LIVE on Saturday, June 21st from 10 to 11 AM Boston time. Last time I hosted, we had folks from Sweden, Pakistan, all across the US, Kenya, the UK, Australia, South Africa, and Trinidad Tobago! Come read a poem of your own or just sit in to listen. We’re a friendly bunch. The more the merrier!
To join us LIVE on Saturday, June 21st from 10 to 11 AM Boston time, just click here and scroll down to the LIVE LINK. Hope to see you there!
Never planned to join the circus, although there is a hereditary tendency. My Uncle Bob ran away to the circus, several times. But he always came back.
Never planned to join the circus, but what a circus we’re living in now! Twenty-four-seven news cycle, clown leading buffoons under the big top.
Never planned to join the circus, but it’s tempting to become an escape artist. I’d lose myself in romance novels and Netflix, or any kind of my own-made cocoon.
Uncle Bob, if you’re anywhere out there, somewhere in the cosmos, help us find our way back home again. Just like you always did.
Kim is hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. She asks us to write a poem “that starts with a surprising hook, which can be one to three lines, but must develop into a fully-fledged poem.”
A bit of explanation: in a few years, I’ll become an octogenarian. I actually did have an Uncle Bob, who every time his wife became pregnant, ran away to the circus. Absolutely true – he had four children so he ran away four times! But he always came back- well before they were born. He was a wonderful uncle and as my childhood memories recall, had a lot of fun with his kids.
PS: here in the U.S., this is no time for any of us to be escape artists. It’s time to speak out, stand up, and resist!
. . . on the precipice, fulcrum loaded, solar eclipse of political moves. Millions watch across the globe piece by piece, light diminishes. Cold suffocating hot air engulfs a nation as vitriol spews. Lies repeated hold strong
Sleep marred by days of nightmares. Innocents assaulted, banished. Aid rescinded, innocents die. What power are my words when thousands follow blindly refusing to call the man what he is.
User and abuser of people. Expunger of honest history repeating tenets of horrific history. One-armed salutes multiply behind closed doors. We live now in a darkly evil tunnel.
Humans hammer on its cold metal walls scream warnings sadly unheeded. Spineless creatures grovel in the muck lick the boot, kiss the ring, subservient to an orange tyrant who redefines the words “bully pulpit”.
Poem created and published * the day after Harvard refused to capitulate to Trump’s demands for federal oversight on admissions, curriculum, faculty hires, and general University policies
* on the day Trump retaliated by freezing $2 billion of federal funds from Harvard including critical research grants to Massachusetts General Hospital, Boston Children’s Hospital, Brigham-Women’s Hospital, Dana-Farber Cancer Insstitute and Beth Israel Deaconess Mecial Center (all affiliated with Harvard Medical School).
*one day after Trump defied the Supreme Court’s order announcing in a press conference while meeting with the President of El Salvadore, that he would not ask for the release of Kilmar Abrego Garcia from an El Salvadore prison, even though his administration admitted his abduction and imprisonment there was an “administrative error”.
*and at least one month after Trump cancelled 5800 USAID contracts including some related to polio, HIV, tuberculosis, and malaria clinics in African countries. “People will die,” said Dr. Catherine Kyobutungi, executive director of the African Population and Health Research Center, “but we will never know [how many] because even the programs to count the dead are cut.”
A flamboyance followed the out-of-control antics of the most orange one. They dumbly stood on one leg seemingly unable to stand on their own two feet.
Conspiracies exploded in numbers as zookeepers looked on aghast. These animals were becoming a colony, a clan, a bloat on the community, a herd of blind cows.
Behaviorists know otters may romp, crocadiles bask, and zebras dazzle. But humans who gaggle, needlessly creating a pandemonium, deliberately crashing the order of things that’s dangerous to every zoo in the world.
All zoo keepers must issue a warning: Beware the squeal of a muskrat in cahoots with a flamboyance. Remember the movie “The Birds” – they gather precariously on a high wire, the murder creating the cacophony. We cannot let them succeed.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today is April Fool’s Day and in keeping with the date, Melissa asks us to write a poem that is partially a lie and partially the truth. She suggests a 60% to 40% ratio.
Not sure about my percentages….but suffice it to say, my poem is not about a zoo. There is much truth here however. Note the use of actual names for groups of animals. Flamboyance:a group of flamingos (who are orange and often stand on one foot) Conspiracy: a group of lemurs Colony: a group of ants Clan: a group of hyenas Bloat: a group of hippos Herd of cows Romp: a group of otters Bask: a group of crocodiles Dazzle: a group of zebras Gaggle of geese Pandemonium: a group of parrots and finally, a Murder is a group of crows.
A new day, sun shining spreads its warmth. Rays of hope still glisten on foam capped waves. Steady tide still rhythmically constant beneath visible turbulent churning.
Autumnal brilliance shed. Trees bared to skeletal frames understand new seasons will arrive. Therefore, I choose to model hope, love and civility. Our next generations need us to believe.
Written on this day, after the 2024 election. Image from Pixabay.com
Our road, rain slicked by spring storms, slippery driving through rivulets. Garden store trips for flower flats bring beautiful garden blooms.
Summer haze simmers above its asphalt. Seashore drives with our kids from toddler through teenage years. Back seat songsters to quiet texters.
Our road, dressed in autumn’s finest. Bright yellows to burnt oranges, like bouncing shimmering can-can skirts. Costume changes in passing seasons.
Difficult on many winter days, snow covered, sometimes impassable. Homebound, cocooned by drifts, content to savor relaxing by the fire.
Our road, our passage to and from. Just the two of us. Then three, then four. Now as two again.
The straightaways always faster than any other part, made distance and time fly by. Used to be our favorite parts.
Our road, these days? We prefer the meandering parts. The curves and bends that slow us down, taking longer to reach the end of the road.
It’s Open Link Night at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, Sanaa asks us to post any poem of our choosing, or an ekphrastic poem related to the image she provided above.
NOTE: Sanaa will also host dVerse LIVE on Saturday, from 10 to 11 AM New York time. Look HERE for an embedded link that will take you with audio and video to a LIVE meeting where folks from around the globe will read a poem of their choosing aloud to the group – OR just drop in to watch and listen. The more the merrier!
String of Black Pearls. Ida B. Wells, Daisy Bates Maya Angelou, Amanda Gorman Toni Morrison, Lorraine Hansberry Rosa Parks, Angela Davis Shirley Chisholm, Barbara Jordan Misty Copeland, Aretha, Ella, Etta, Billie, Viola Davis Oprah, Simone Biles Jessica Watkins Dr. Kizzmekia Corbet and Kamala Harris
Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, Lisa asks us to include the word “string” or a form of the word (not a synonym) in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.
Julia’s delectable mousse au chocolat, my annual nod to France’s Noel.
Best qualité chocolat les oeufs: yolks and whites separated unsalted butter and deep dark espresso splash of citrusy Grand Marnier sugar only to slightly sweeten. Whisking, whisking, beating, beating, licking fingers, licking whisk. Final touch, the folding. Soft-peaked egg whites into sinful chocolate mixture. Airy deliciousness carefully spooned into grandmother’s crystal goblets. Gently placed on refrigerator shelf until its late night serving.
Christmas Eve dinner done. We sit quietly savoring this melt-in-your-mouth dessert. Julia’s delectable mousse au chocolat, our annual nod to France’s Noel.
Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, Sanaa is pubtending and asks us to write a poem about food! And yes, I do make Julia’s Mousse au chocolat every Christmas! The page for the recipe in this book is well spattered and smeared with chocolate and has my notes all over it. It is truly delicious!!!
In the stillness I try to quiet my mind. In the stillness I strain to hear your voice, your wisdom, your insight.
In the stillness I am aware of everyday sounds, the clock ticking, the hour chiming, the redbird chirping.
A car passes, time passes, life passes.
Stillness please come and remove all other sounds and let me hear your voice to be my guide this day.
Written by dear friend, Lindsey Ein. I inserted her words in Bing Create and it generated the image. Lindsey will read her poem aloud today at dVerse LIVE.
Come join us at dVerse LIVE today, from 10 to 11 AM New York time. You’ll find the link to join HERE. There’s an audio and video feed and folks from across the US, Pakistan, Australia and the UK have already responded that they’ll be there. Come sit in to listen…..or come read a poem of your choosing. The more the merrier!
lillian the home poet 